Who Was Pookie Snackenberg?

It’s another rainy day after a mild winter.  The mosquitoes are back.  Outdoor plans have been squelched.

Racking my brain for topics to post.  Trying too hard, complaining about it, never worked in the past.  Tuesdays are traditionally slow news days, anyway.

Which leads to the question of “Who was Pookie Snackenberg?”

Pookie Snackenberg, was an invention of Jack Carney, fifties radio DJ for St. Louis station WIL, in the dizzy, high-flying days of AM rock radio.

Pookie Snackenberg, fictional teen hero, represented crazy stunts by rock and roll DJ’s all over the country in the clamor for listeners and ratings.  Pookie Snackenberg buttons were available at the station and sponsor’s retail locations.

In another publicity stunt, Carney asked listeners to pull tuning knobs off their parents’ home and car radios, so dials couldn’t be moved from WIL.

My late father-in-law must have gotten the memo, because the tuning knob on his pickup truck radio was always missing.

As a public service, when there’s nothing to talk about; or you’re in need of a trivia topic–remember to ask, “Who was Pookie Snackenberg?”  And, you’re welcome, happy to be of service.

Ultimatums

They seem cruel now–but, back then they were attempts to gain control.  Different from admonitions, these were warnings; do/don’t do this, or this will happen.

“Come on, I’m going.  I’m not telling you again.  OK, you can just stay here at Aunt Edna’s.  Your Bubba bear is going to miss you.”

A few tears, later and the recalcitrant youngun’ came dragging along.  He wasn’t about to abandon his favorite teddy bear.

Behind Rose’s Market was an outhouse and a storage building.  The small town grocery store, was an after school meeting place.  Old men from town, met in the back, by the oil-burning stove, for their daily gossip fest.  Charlie Rose, the proprietor, gave a familiar warning.

“Get away from that shed–the boogeyman will get you.”

Grandparents gave an ultimatum or two.  Some of them quite macabre.

“Don’t play on the telephone.”  Or, Nelson Fenton, proprietor of the local independent telephone company, would come and, “Cut our ears off.”

Ultimatums came from everywhere, from aunts and uncles, teachers, townspeople.  They were battles of wills; attempts to maintain order.

“If you don’t stop crying and behave, I’m going to take you to the doctor and get you a shot.”

That usually did the trick.  No kid I knew liked getting shots.  Working in health care later, I discovered this approach, hindered more than it helped.

“Hit your sister again, and I’ll swat your butt.”  Direct and to the point–nothing else needed to be said.

Along the path to maturity, these ultimatums were no more cruel, than those elsewhere in the animal kingdom.  Mother cats cuffed misbehaving offspring; carried them by the scruff of their necks when necessary.  All creatures had to learn their places.  There were consequences for misbehavior.

 

 

 

Telephone Salvation (Encore Presentation)

seance 2

One size fits all, misfits

Screamed, indulge me!

Make me happy!

Boys from Possum Junction

Veronicas from Pecatonica

Sat around the parlor table

In a séance, for miscreants

Conjured spirits, of

Recently departed ambitions

Contemplated, turning points

Of contention, where, how, when

Relationships went askew

Deliberations, starved

For attention

Couldn’t make up, for

What, wasn’t there

Folded arms–a few stifled yawns later

Cautious glances, at watches

Last words, soon forgotten

Boredom ended, with

Telephone salvation

Sweater Sensations

Not since Mr. Rogers, has there been so much hubbub about sweaters.

Of course, I’m speaking about Ken Bone, the heavy-set, bespectacled guy, with refreshing, relevant, thoughtful questions at the last Presidential Debate.

The red sweater, a last-minute wardrobe choice, is as much an internet sensation, as it’s wearer.

What a relief from a campaign, thus far riddled with insults, was Ken Bone.  Shouldn’t he be in the “Sweater Wearers Hall of Fame?”  …Along with other famous sweater wearers?

 

Knock-Knock Who’s There…

Knock-knock who’s there?

Knick-knacks, knackwurst

Don’t like it?  Don’t knock it

Tired punchlines–nobody cared

Lost among receding hairlines

Expanding waistlines

Figures of speech

Nobody under thirty understood

Fedora hats replaced

By baseball caps worn backward

By those aspiring to be hip and cool

Gomer Pyle, Satch from the Bowery Boys

Sported askew caps and portrayed fools

 

That Blowed Up Real Good

film-farm-report-john-candyIn the words of Billy Sol Hurok, from SCTV, played by the late, great, John Candy.

In so far as, things didn’t blow up as much in the good old days; mainly because there were no smart phones; nor were there hoverboards.  We had washing machines, but they weren’t prone to exploding.

Pinto cars had exploding gas tanks.  Corvairs were deemed unsafe by Ralph Nader.  A lot of us drove those cars every day.

I’ve been busy running errands all day and I simply have nothing to write–except about things blowing up.

 

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